“How much money have you got?” Step demanded bluntly.
“Oh, ten dollars or so—that is, by scraping everything together I can raise that much.”
“Then make it a ten-dollar one—best you can find for the money. Ship it to ’em with a nice note—you know the sort: you greatly regret the accident and you’re making haste to replace the property destroyed. They’ll read it, and they’ll see the new vase, and they’ll say, ‘Well, there’s a boy who means to do the right thing; we can’t be too hard on him. Guess we’d better call it quits.’ And there you are! What more could you ask?”
Poke was blinking like one dazzled by the prospect. “I—I—say, wonder if the thing would work?”
“How can you tell till you try?”
“That’s so. Only——”
“Hang it, ‘only’ never got anybody anywhere!” Step expostulated.
“Maybe not.”
“It surely never did,” Step insisted.
Poke evidently was half-persuaded. “It’s a great scheme—I’ll say that for it. So I guess I—I’ll——”